#is it just a misunderstanding of mine or...?

[finelythreadedsky]

saw a cover of the song of achilles with a testimonial from another author saying "mary renault lives again." mary renault would have hated that so much.

[lightineventide]

Another nice live recording from the Roy Khan era - a suggestion for @do-androids-dream-ao3acc ☺️. Unfortunately, this one is only an audio recording, and I think the song isn't really that popular, but it's a personal favourite of mine.

To be honest, I also love this recording because of the suprise triple F-bomb from Roy (it's a great thing to have in my CD collection) 😄. I laughed my ass off the first time I heard it.

[ohmylcve]

He had questions, many of them. How could he not? Inside Verona's mind, she was sure he would have so many, but she wasn't so sure if he would actually ask. If he would be willing to know the raw truth of Verona's past. The whole pressure of convincing him was getting on her nerves, as if it were an obligation rather than a simple story she could choose not to tell. Of course, she had the choice, but choosing not to tell meant losing him, and that isn’t something she’s willing to do. Verona has never told this story to anyone. She’s had multiple lovers before, who left once they discovered her marriage. She also had ones who knew about her marriage—but those usually came for her flesh, not for her soul. Not a single person knew the entire story, because truth be told: no one mattered this much to her.

Though she was willing to speak, to go on and on about how she’s stuck in a situation she’s not willing to get out of, she hates that she’s compelled to do so. Verona would rather be in a bed, late at night, after a few glasses of white wine, spilling words like she accidentally spills her drink, when she’s not controlling herself. In this very moment, she wishes time travel were possible, just so she could go back and be able to tell this story the way he deserves to hear it.

Ali’s whole body betrays him: the clenched jaw, the closed fists... it’s almost as if he’s about to start a fight, and she knows that this very moment is one for him. He’s fighting himself, he’s fighting against her, but also... he’s fighting with her. And she’s battling to understand what it is that truly hurts him: is it the lie itself? No... once she realized that the words are mere objects to hide the true pain inside. So what was that pain? Scavenging through every word, through every silence, Verona finds herself eager to discover what it is that he’s hiding behind his thick and yet trembling walls.

She does so until he reveals his secret—one he might not have revealed if it wasn’t for this huge misunderstanding between them, just like the story she would’ve never told. After all, this was entirely about vulnerability. Hers, his. About how neither of them could deal with that. But more than that... it was about Ali. About how he never opened up this way to someone; not only did she feel that while in his sheets, but she acknowledges the truth of it by his mere state. "Oh, for fuck’s sake!" The entire control she held until now felt like it was shattered by his fear. She was still defeated, still felt like she needed to convince him, but she was tired. Tired of listening to him blabber on about what he thought, rather than hearing her say it. "If you're too much of a coward to deal with how much we feel, you might as well leave," she fires, guessing her entire face is as red as her hair. "I could’ve lied about so many things. So many! I could’ve faked how I felt, but I don’t take you for a fool. I know you can read people more than I can understand, so I know you’ve read me and you felt the truth in every touch. Mine or yours. You felt it, and if you can't admit that to yourself, then go. Because if you’re here to throw your truths at me, I am not interested in this conversation at all." With a deep breath, she takes a sip of her drink, allowing the anger and irritation to fill her body. What is that pain of hers, then? Clear as day, it popped into her head: he’s knowing me before I can show up to him, just like Viego did.

As the trigger was identified, Verona finishes her glass of wine, forgetting her manners and wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "I could've lied about my name. Have you ever thought about that?" she begins, her gaze meeting his, silently challenging him to keep up. "I’ve had my fair share of affairs, but you were the only one who got my full name right. Verona Quinn." Lowell, she knows. But that's not her name, not the one she claims, not the one she's known for. "My maiden name is my full name." With a slow breath, she looks away, tears rising as she reminds herself that she is the one who built her empire. Not Viego. Her.

"I have no idea how you felt. Not a single glimpse of comprehension," she begins, calmer than before, as if the storm she threw was nothing more than necessary to bring her back to herself. "And I never will. Nothing I can say will change the fact that I’ve hurt you a lot, I’m well aware of it." Confidence blending with her words, as if both were merely colors she was merging to create a new one. "But I do have my reasons for acting the way I did. Nothing will justify the pain you're feeling, so if you're looking for that, again, you might as well just leave." Still able to hold his gaze, she continued. "I am Verona Quinn, for what it matters. I live as Verona Quinn, I EXIST as Verona Quinn." Emphasizing existence, she knows the core of what she's about to say lies there. "I never lied to you because I was dragging you into my mess. For me, it was never a lie, because the life I live is already one." Admitting it to herself out loud hurts more than she expects, and afraid she might stop in the middle of it, she continues, faster than before, but with as much intention. "Forget social conventions for a while, and think of our last walk through the streets of Venice, Ali. I can imagine how confusing that might be for you, that we've felt that much and yet I am married. I can assure you, in this marriage, there's no love. Nothing like we have, not even close." Her gaze turned into a searching one, as if she was trying to find the small piece that held both of them together inside of him. Her hands, on top of his tightened ones, slowly moved to open them, to grab his hands while she kept talking. "I gave you my all. I never gave you lies, no, not in my perspective. What I did was open up my chest, to grab my heart, and put it inside your hands. These very ones." She says it softer, a childish smile quickly making its appearance and then leaving as she recalls the information that once left his lips: I've killed for less than what you did to me. Then, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze, she adds, feeling her throat close in anxiety for his answer to what she's about to ask. "Will you crush it, or will you keep it?"

Ali’s thoughts swirled in a tempest of contradiction. He wasn’t sure which stung more—the raw truth of Verona’s words or the realization that he had come here, into her world, unarmed with anything but his own vulnerabilities. Vulnerabilities he despised. Vulnerabilities that, for the first time in years, he couldn’t hide from himself. Her gaze, unwavering and penetrating, stripped him bare in ways no interrogation or battlefield had ever managed. It was excruciating. It was intoxicating. For so long, Ali had conditioned himself to avoid moments like these. To bypass the chaos of human emotion and live within the neat, controlled lines of precision and purpose. Chaos belonged out there—on the job, in the face of danger, where his body and mind could cut through it like a scalpel. Not here. Not in the eyes of someone who made him feel exposed, seen, and, worst of all, uncertain. He hated uncertainty. And yet, as Verona questioned him—her voice steady but her breathing betraying her—he didn’t feel in control anymore. His carefully constructed walls, reinforced by years of discipline and detachment, buckled under the weight of her honesty. The vulnerability in her words was almost unbearable. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, regret, or something far messier that churned in his chest, but it clawed at him like a caged animal. What did he want to know? Did he even know? Her question hung in the air like smoke, suffocating him as much as it compelled him to answer. He clenched his jaw, fighting the instinct to retreat, to end the conversation with an abrupt exit and return to the comfort of isolation. But he stayed. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he stayed.

“Start with why,” he said, his voice steady but lacking its usual coldness. It almost felt foreign to hear it. His own words sounded sharper than he intended, but Ali didn’t soften them. He couldn’t. Not when his mind was flooded with fragments of memories—brief moments of trust, of closeness, that now felt tainted by betrayal and lies. Not when he wasn’t sure if he wanted to forgive her or punish her for the way she made him feel. For the way she still made him feel. He hated the way his heart raced as she took a step closer. Hated the way he noticed every detail—the slight quiver in her lips, the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes searched his, not for forgiveness but for understanding. Hated how much he wanted to give it to her, even when he wasn’t sure she deserved it. The truth, he realized, was that he wasn’t here for closure. He wasn’t here for answers. He was here because, against all reason, he couldn’t stay away. And that terrified him more than anything. Ali’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to steady himself. The air between them felt thick, charged with all the words left unsaid, all the truths she had buried and he had clawed at only to uncover too late. He stared at her now, his mind a battlefield of emotions he couldn’t afford to indulge: anger, betrayal, longing. Why had she lied? Why had she pulled him into her orbit, knowing all along she had another life—a life she’d hidden while weaving herself so deeply into his? Ali’s voice, when it came, was low and deliberate. Every word felt like a sharp-edged weapon, carefully aimed but impossible to dull.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like,” he began, his tone measured but barely masking the storm beneath, “to find out the way I did? To look into the life you kept hidden and realize I wasn’t just a part of it—I was your secret?” His gaze was fixed on hers, unrelenting. Her eyes, so often a mystery, were now a mirror, reflecting the weight of his words back at him. But Ali couldn’t stop. He’d held this inside for too long, and the dam was cracking. “You say you weren’t playing with me,” he continued, his voice hardening, “but what else would you call it? You didn’t just lie, Verona. You let me believe there was nothing else. No one else. And I—” He cut himself off, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t want to admit what he had given her, what he had felt for her, not when it still ached like an open wound. His breath hitched as he forced himself to calm down, to rein in the chaos she had unleashed inside him. Ali prided himself on control, on precision. But she had dismantled that so easily, with her truths and half-truths, with the world she’d built for herself while leaving him in the dark. “I’ve killed for less than what you did to me,” he said softly, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Do you know that?” The cat was official out of the bag, and Ali didn't even realize he just let out a big secret. That's how crazy he was about her. That's how mad she made him. “And still,” he said, softer now, the anger bleeding into something rawer, something vulnerable, “I came here. I needed to hear it from you. Why you lied. Why you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.” He paused, his gaze locking onto hers again, searching for something—remorse, regret, an answer. Anything to explain why she had taken what he’d offered her and broken it so completely. “Did any of it mean anything to you? Or was I just the escape you needed until you went back to your real life?”

[muirmarie]

Me: I joke about writing the same McCoy centric story over and over again in different ways

Me: and like. I love doing it and imma keep doing it because it makes me happy.

Me: but also. I do sometimes wonder if it's like. A little Much.

Me: like maybe I should branch out or something

Me: [reads another fundamental and extremely insulting misread of McCoy's character by someone who is clearly making a Choice to cast McCoy as the villain, because they have to get him out of the way of spirk, because they're too???? idk immature??? to realize that even when you're in a relationship with one person, other ppl can and SHOULD still be important to you]

Me: lmao I hope I AM too much actually!!!! I hope it is 100% obnoxious how much I love that doctor!!!!! Time to write more versions of the same story of McCoy being forced to realize that he is loved and cared for!!!!!!

Me: I KNOW MY NICHE AND IMMA DIE IN THAT NICHE, THANKS

[raayllum]

when viren said "because you're too good for dark magic now?" and when callum said "because it's wrong?" like i'm chewing drywall

[perilegs]

i'm trying to watch a trans guy critique some video game trans rep bc i'm interested in hearing more trans ppl talk about it. but he's very. i'm paraphrasing here but "why would anyone ever in a million years want their rpg character to have top surgery scars. isnt that a constant reminder to you and everyone around you about how you were born" and "you don't work on transitioning. you just need hormone treatment and possibly some--"

[silver-horse]

this dialogue option is truly hilarious to be honest "your faith in Lolth faltered. It is not too late to reclaim it." NO. NO. No. NO. It IS too late. It is absolutely definitely way too fucking late. Laughing my ass off. Are you kidding with me? Do not go back. Dialogue option 3 and 4 are the only right ones.

[jrueships]

zesty lowkey just another way for str8 ppl to say faggot / faggy and get away with it

[tittyinfinity]

contemplating deleting my blog soon I might make a new blog but idk

[jojotism]

Pinkie Pie is literally Typal

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[genekies]

tag vent

[creaturefeaster]

wire is it ok for people to simp over your ocs

My understanding of this word is to be an intense fan of something? Would that be accurate?

I don't mind if people go coocoo for anything I design as long as it isn't actively harming their psyche.

[sonknuxadow]

people take the "youre my mom and dad and picket fence" line way too literally and i think a big part of the cause for that is that a lot of people just pass the clip around by itself without watching the episode its from .. the story of that episode is that tails gets hurt so sonic is like Okay im just putting you in danger by letting you follow me everywhere so we're going to find you a family to live with. and then they find one that seems perfect and sonic is like wow ... a mom ... a dad .. a picket fence ... so sonic leaves tails with them and immediately regrets it and misses him and when things go wrong for other reasons sonic apologizes and says he just wanted tails to have a real family . and tails says he already has a real family in sonic and says the thing about sonic being his mom and dad and picket fence as a callback to that earlier scene . so the point there isnt "sonic is a parental figure to tails" its "sonic and tails dont need all that stuff to be a family they have eachother and thats enough". hello is anyone listening to me

[enden-k]

At some point I will def start writing love letters to him, so I hope you're mentally prepared

-anon that proposed to Kaveh

please dont send them to me, i dont wanna come off as mean but i genuinely dont know how to respond anymore to smth like this and i dont wanna keep continuing feeling stressed and uncomfy on this blog anymore

[puhpandas]

GGY better get a graphic novel not even because it’s one of the most important stories from the Tales besides the other Mimic ones but like it answers SO MANY questions about Sb

it would be crazy if it didnt since it's like the actual biggest more straight forward story of TFTP lol. but also the idea of it happening is scary. what if the novel artists dont make greg look enough like Gregory and people start saying they're not the same person. what if they make tony becker look like a simpleton with a simple green tshirt or something and no sleep deprived eyebags. what if they make ellis really light